Beautiful Idiots
by LittlePageAndBird
Summary: Five short, incredibly fluffy drabbles featuring River Song and the Twelfth Doctor in celebration of the GLORIOUS NEWS we received on the 2nd of September. After two years and seven months of waiting, River Song is coming back to Doctor Who! We've all missed you, sweetie. Welcome back.
1. Chapter 1

_**No plot whatsoever, just three short drabbles featuring River and the Twelfth Doctor that I've had stored up for a while (along with about 200 others~). I thought I would post them in celebration of the WONDERFUL news that husband and wife are to be reunited and River is to meet Twelve for the first time this Christmas! I hope you're all as happy as I am. Merry early Christmas, sweeties!**_

* * *

 _ **Twelve and River returning from a party : The Tardis~**_

They made their way back to the Tardis hand in hand, full of whispers and giggles as they crept upstairs to avoid waking Clara who, exhausted by her own birthday party, had wandered off some time ago to apparently find sleep in the console room chair.

"There, see? I told you it would be a good night."

The Doctor clicked the bedroom door shut behind them, slipping off his coat – the usual one, given that no amount of persuasion from neither River nor Clara could have made him change his outfit even for his best friend's party. "Debatable."

"Really?" River asked, raising an eyebrow at him as he hooked an arm around her waist to keep her balanced as she slipped off her crimson heels. "You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"That might have been something to do with your being there."

Her lips curved into a smile. "Might have?"

"Mmm." He tilted her chin up now that she was distinctly shorter to press a delicate kiss to her lips, running his tongue over his teeth with a wince upon pulling back. "You're alarmingly champagne-flavoured."

"Well, something had to get me through watching you on the dance floor."

"Yes, Clara had a word with me about that." His hands slipped off his wife with some reluctance, letting his eyes trail over her back as she turned to the dresser before flopping onto the bed to unlace his shoes. "She was curious as to why you loved me."

"I imagine most people are." River chuckled as she slipped off her bracelet, seeing his features lapse into a sulky pout in the mirror. "What did you tell her?"

"I said, I think she loves me in no small part because she was conditioned not to."

"You think my love for you is an act of defiance?"

"Am I wrong?"

She just chuckled, slipping her diamond earrings off and placing them carefully on the nightstand. "Unzip me."

As always, it was an invitation. Her eyes fluttered shut, waiting for the weight of large hands to cup her shoulders. A contented sigh floated past her lips when his touch finally came; fingers ghosting over the lean muscles beneath the fabric of her dress, tracing the subtle bumps of her spine, before finally going to her zip.

"Did she ask why _you_ loved _me_?" River asked quietly, eyes opening to find his reflection gazing at her pensively.

"I think that's fairly self-explanatory, don't you?"

"Transparent," she agreed with a haughty smirk, threading a hand into her hair to remove the pin holding it in its elegant twist and letting the corkscrews tumble onto her shoulders. She watched the Doctor watching her in fascination, and felt an unexpected warm tingle creep into her cheeks. "Sweetie, can you even see with your pupils that dilated?"

The sharp zing as he pulled her zip down cracked through the bedroom, and she felt the prickle of goose bumps along the newly exposed skin of her back. He gave her no answer, but by the way he pressed his eyes shut as he lowered his head to pepper a trail of chaste kisses from her shoulder to the nape of her neck she assumed that he didn't need to see. Cool hands slipped inside her open dress to encircle her waist, palms pressing against her warm stomach and holding her flush against him.

"I'm not just in love with you because I'm not supposed to be, you know."

"Is that right," he murmured into her hair. "Enlighten me, Professor."

River leaned back into his embrace, grinning at him in the mirror. "I can't have you getting complacent by telling you what you're doing right. I like to make you work."

His chuckle became lost against her skin, eyes tightly shut as if he was trying to drink her in; the tangy perfume she'd bought from that bazaar they'd visited, the silky flesh of her stomach pressing against his hands. Before, in the days when she'd feel the rough fabric of a bow tie pressing against the top of her spine, she might have turned around and demanded that he got on with it – firing off instructions, pushing him to his knees, slapping restraints around his wrists and chuckling at his nervous gulp. But she felt no need for that tonight in the arms of this older, wiser man who was more her husband than ever; the one who now knew what each and every look meant the instant it flitted across her face, as well as all of the secret pathways into her heart. For the first time in her life, she felt safe relinquishing control and simply letting herself be adored by the man who now worshipped her without question or hesitation.

* * *

 _ **Twelve and River in the morning: River's House ~**_

River groaned unintelligibly, yanking the blankets over her ears and stubbornly clamping her head down on the pillow. It didn't have the desired effect; she could still hear the shriek of the telephone that had disturbed her so rudely from a deep sleep, ringing persistently on the bedside table.

She watched as a large hand snaked around her, fumbling blindly on the table and managing to knock her alarm clock and just about everything else askew before finally gripping hold of the phone and shoving it violently; it clattered to the floor and fell silent.

"That's better," a gruff voice next to her ear muttered, the hand coming from its warpath on the bedside table to wrap snugly around River's waist.

"It could have been important…" Despite her feeble protest she didn't care nearly as much as she should have, pressed back cosily against her husband's warm chest as she was.

The Doctor grunted, nuzzling into her sleep-ruffled curls. "Who cares?"

"I care." Her eyes were already slipping closed, and his response drew a drowsy chuckle from her.

"No you don't."

His hand slid across the soft skin of River's stomach as she flipped over to let her eyes roam over him; one cheek flushed from its resting place on the pillow, hair sticking up in comical tufts and eyes screwed obstinately shut no matter how many times she danced her fingernails along his ribs in an attempt to make him laugh.

"Stop the tickling. Stop – Riv _er_." He opened one eye to scowl at her when she pressed feathery kisses along his jaw, growling as he attempted to pull the duvet over his head as a makeshift shield.

She lifted her head to grin at him when he gave up with an indignant sigh, brushing their noses together where his just peeked over the top of the sheets. "I'm so glad you're not a morning person this time around."

He wiggled away from her. "Shush. Sleep cycle still in progress here."

She buried a smile in the crook of his neck. "You used to wake me up at the crack of dawn, convinced that you'd invented a new hat in your dream. Bouncing all over the place like a puppy until you woke me, you ridiculous man; I think you were allergic to lie-ins."

"Not anymore," he mumbled, glaring at her through hazy eyes. "Not as young as I used to be. Are you going back to sleep now?" It sounded more like a demand than an inquiry. River smoothed his silvery hair adoringly, making his lips purse. "Do I have to throw you onto the rug too?"

She purred, arching her back to curl against him tightly. "Yes please."

The Doctor shook his head without bothering to lift it from where it was nestled in the pillow, pushing against her feebly. "It's too early for you."

* * *

 _ **Twelve visiting his wife ~**_

"In here, sweetie."

He stopped dead in the doorway, eyebrows vaulting up his forehead as he drank in the sight of River; not a scrap of make-up, hair like a fluffy bird's nest on her shoulders, and dressed in an oversized pair of blue polka-dot pyjamas.

She threw up her hands with a scoff before his gaping mouth could formulate any words. "Look, I _know_. But it's been a long week, I'm up to my neck in marking, and I really just need to relax. I'll make it up to you next time you drop in – silk, lace, heels, the whole shebang. Ok?"

The Doctor finally shifted from the doorway, a coy smile on his face. "Or – you could stay exactly like this."

"Why, is it working for you?" she asked cynically, sighing irritably when the brush became tangled among her curls. Sensing an opportunity, he crossed their bedroom to prise the brush out of River's hands.

"Very much, as it happens," he admitted, face twisting into a half-grin when her eyes narrowed at him in the mirror. "Oh, this hair… I don't know why you always lose your temper with it. It's spectacular," he remarked, sliding the brush through her curls.

"You're good at that," River remarked pensively. "I may have to employ you full-time. Why haven't I asked you to do this before?"

"You did, once, when I was young. Well, young in terms of our relationship. But I believe my levels of patience and co-ordination back then left a lot to be desired; as you know. That particular endeavour led to you throwing the brush at me and giving me a formal warning against ever touching your hair again, after around thirty seconds of what you described as physical torture."

River chuckled. "I remember that. In all fairness, I think if I'd let you carry on I would have ended up needing a wig."

"That's true." He ran the brush gently through her hair, teasing the tangles out with his fingers. "I'm better at it now, though, look."

"You're better at most things now; like a fine wine, you improve with age. Could you put it into loose bunches, sweetie? Stops it getting in my face when I'm asleep and, you know, suffocating me," River smiled.

"What a way to go." He deftly fixed her hair in her desired style and placed the brush down to wrap his arms around her waist, making her silky pyjama shirt bunch up under his hands. She hummed happily, leaning back against him with closed eyes, and he nuzzled into her hair with a contented smile. "I like you like this," he decided, murmuring the words into her warm neck. "Well, I always like you."

"I should think so too." She grinned at him in the mirror. "But seriously, darling, when I'm in the middle of final dissertation season? I'm… dilapidated."

He made a little half-hearted grunt of sympathy, sliding a hand beneath her shirt to press his palm to her warm stomach. "Do you need pampering?"

"If you can get your motor running with me looking like this." She sighed heavily, squinting at herself in the mirror. "You may have to use your imagination."

He nudged at her ear with his lips. "This self-doubting lark doesn't suit you, wife."

"No?"

The Doctor hummed, swivelling her around in his arms and pressing her hips up to his. "No. And my motor is running just fine, thank you very much."

Without warning he dipped down and tucked his hands under River's knees, flipping her straight off her feet. She yelped as she landed back on the bed with a bounce, the springs creaking in protest as the Doctor crawled over her. "See?" he breathed against her mouth, waiting for her to stop laughing before dipping his head to leave a lingering kiss on her lips.

* * *

 _ **Hello Sweetie: Christmas Day, 2015. Get ready!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_In further celebration of the fact that we're soon going to see River and Twelve together, here are two more short drabbles - this time they're slightly AU as they feature Post-Library River, having been rescued as some theories suggest._**  
 ** _These two go a little way to exploring River's influence on the Doctor's traits. Enjoy! :)_**

* * *

 _ **Night in: The Tardis ~**_

Clara's feet ground to a halt on the top step.

"Oh, this is my _favourite_ part."

The Doctor and River sat curled up on the seat in the console room, pyjama-clad with a faded tartan blanket draped around them. River had her legs swung over her husband's and a battered book cradled in her lap from which they were apparently both reading. The Doctor's chin was propped on River's shoulder and her mass of unruly curls must have been tickling his nose, but by the looks of things he wasn't going to complain anytime soon.

"Really? It's so depressing," the Doctor remarked, brow furrowing as his eyes scanned the pages.

"That's why I like it," River whispered softly, as if loathe to disturb the tranquillity that was settled like morning mist in the console room.

"How very human of you."

"Don't start that on me. I know you love this book just as much as I do."

Clara squinted to focus on the book in question, and seeing _The Time Traveller's Wife_ sprawled across the cover put the Doctor's next comment into perspective. "Well I have to, don't I? I'm living it."

River lifted her head from where it was pillowed on her husband's chest to throw him the briefest, sweetest of smiles, and sudden tears welled in Clara's eyes.

She'd turned on her heel with a bowed head, intending to run straight to her room and very probably cry into her pillow, when a sharp Scottish voice halted her tracks.

"It's past your bedtime, Clara."

She reluctantly wandered back to the top step, hugging her ribs bashfully. "I'm twenty-seven, Doctor. I don't have a bedtime."

Her voice sounded choked even to her, and a little worried crease appeared along the Doctor's brow. But the question came from River. "Clara, are you ok?" When she didn't – couldn't – answer, the soothing voice of the Doctor's wife was comforting enough to make a painful lump rise in her throat. "Want to come and talk to us? You're welcome to."

Clara's breath shook as she drew it in, telling herself to raise her head and forcing a thin smile. "Could I have some hot chocolate?"

River threw the blanket to one side, swinging her legs off the Doctor's lap and chasing away his indignant frown with a sharp glare that was enough to make him rise to his feet after her.

If ever there was a sight to cheer Clara up, this was it; her ever-so-serious stick insect of a best friend, dressed in dark pinstripe pyjamas and slippers with a soft navy dressing gown, one cheek flushed from its resting place against River's head.

The Doctor sat opposite Clara at the kitchen bench, studying her with owlish eyes as the sound of River, humming to herself while mixing hot chocolate into three mugs behind them, kept the silence at bay.

"I know what you're going to say."

His eyebrows curled into a frown at Clara's remark. "How could you possibly-"

"You're going to say I'm being a sentimental idiot. That I'm being so – so _human_ and that it's been long enough that I should get over it," Clara muttered, picking at her pyjama sleeve.

"Then you don't know what I was going to say at all." The Doctor checked over his shoulder, seemingly to confirm that River wasn't listening, before leaning closer to Clara with his hands clasped on the table between them. "Clara, I lost River a thousand years ago, and every day of that, every single day, right up until the day she came back, I missed her so much that it burned," he told her in a hushed, uncharacteristically soft voice. "I would never wish that on anyone, and I certainly wouldn't trivialise it. I know you like to think I'm heartless, but as hard as this may be for you to believe I do know what it is you're feeling."

"I should think so, husband."

River winked at her husband as she tiptoed over to the bench, balancing three steaming mugs in her hands. He sighed a little. "I forgot how good your hearing was."

Clara's hands curled around the mug that River gave her, clutching it tightly as her best friend and his wife watched her anxiously from across the table. "How am I supposed to move on? Every time I think I'm doing ok, something switches and it's like he died yesterday all over again…"

"It'll do that for a long time," the Doctor told her quietly. "Forever, to an extent; but eventually the gaps between those relapses becomes longer, and longer, until the pain they bring with them fades. It becomes dull, like toothache; always there, but you learn to live with it."

"And how long did it take you, a century? I don't have that sort of time."

"You won't need it. Human relationships aren't like Time Lord ones."

"Don't patronise me."

"I'm not; it's fact. River and I were married for a good two centuries before I lost her; as you said, you lot don't have that sort of time. Relationships are a far bigger commitment when you're a race who lives for millennia; you fall further. So the loss is more painful."

Clara's jaw clenched. "Don't you-"

"Sweetie, you may want to stop talking now." River's gentle voice broke the glaring standoff between them, slicing through the tension. "Clara, he's right; we have more years, more hearts – psychic abilities. We feel things more intensely; it's just in our biology. But that doesn't mean for a second that what you feel is any less valid than what we do. I know that, because I watched my parents, both humans, fall in love – I watched them die for each other – and nothing in this Universe could make me believe that that wasn't real."

She saw the pain flicker across the Doctor's face, just as River's hand ghosted over his without so much as glancing in his direction and erased it. Moments like that, however brief, made Clara see what they were getting at.

"I feel like I'm not allowed to move on. Like… _I_ can't let myself do that. I just keep thinking what he'd… River, if…" Clara's tired eyes fluttered shut as tendrils of steam from the hot chocolate drifted up her nostrils. "If you'd still been in the Library Universe… data thing, if you had known that the Doctor was moving on, how would you have felt?"

"If he was happy, and if forgetting about me a little was something he had to do to make him that, then I'd be happy too."

"You wouldn't be upset?"

River sighed softly, taking a pensive sip of her hot chocolate. "Clara… I saw the Doctor with you on Trenzalore; I saw him vow to risk his life to save you, I learned that he'd never told you about me-"

The Doctor's indignant scoff cut across her. "I _did_!"

"Not mentioning that I'm a woman, sweetie, doesn't count. All of that, of course it hurt. Thinking that he was living his life without me broke my heart. But before that, I watched him sit on a cloud for one hundred years and mourn me; going nowhere, speaking to no-one - until you. That was unbearable. I was so _glad_ when you came along, because believe me, nothing is worse than watching someone you love dying because of you."

"I can vouch for that," the Doctor chipped in quietly, outstretching his little finger from his mug handle to brush over the back of River's hand.

"I'm sure Danny would think the same. Of course he wouldn't have been thrilled about you moving on, Clara – won't be, if he's up there watching somewhere – but to him, if he really loved you- which I'm sure he did – it'll be far better than the other option."

"I know. I just – I feel like I owe him, never to be with anybody else." She shot the Doctor a sharp look to warn him against any scathing comments, though for once he appeared to have no intention of making any. "I suppose you think that's stupid."

"You shouldn't make assumptions about what I think, Clara," he answered quietly. "Why do you think I chose this face? Why do you think this body is against flirting, and hugging, and all of that romantic paraphernalia?"

"Is it?" River asked, amusement glittering in her eyes.

"With one exception," he affirmed, throwing his wife a brief glance. "And that's my point."

Clara frowned. "What is?"

"The way I am now wasn't accidental. When you met me, I was a man who'd been shaped by one woman; running after her, being with her, losing her, all of that made me who I was. No-one had had that sort of influence on me since Gallifrey. And I had a millennium on Trenzalore, watching generation after generation die in front of me, to realise that no-one else ever could again. That was when I decided that… I wanted River to be the last. The last person I ever loved; in that way, at least."

Clara blinked aggressively to dismiss the pools in the rims of her eyes. River only smiled softly, pressing her nose against her husband's shoulder; she'd clearly heard it from him when they'd been alone. The Doctor carried on, sounding slightly confused as he caught notice of Clara's crumpled expression. "I found it difficult to make that resolve in my last body, when I had over three hundred years of love and companionship in it. But I took the new regeneration cycle as an opportunity. Briefly forgot when I changed, but then…" He held up his left hand, drawing Clara's eyes to the thick gold band on his ring finger that shimmered in the low amber light. "I remembered; made the vow a part of me and kept it. And your eyes have inflated again," he muttered crossly. "I've warned you about that."

"I asked you if that was a wedding ring, you told me it wasn't!"

"Well I lied, obviously. Your eyes are massive enough as it is; and I couldn't let you go thinking I had feelings."

She pressed her lips together, pushing down a smile and the urge to dive across the table and envelop him in a lung-crushing hug. "But if River hadn't come back… would you just have kept that promise forever?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to answer, but River beat him to it. "No!"

He turned to her sharply. "What do you mean no? Why not?"

"Honey, you like people too much. You like _women_ too much. And another regeneration cycle – that's an awfully long time to be alone. And celibate," she added in a pointedly loud whisper.

Clara watched the Doctor roll his eyes. "That's not important."

"That's not what you were saying a couple of hours ago."

"We have company," he reminded her in a low voice.

Clara smirked weakly. "River's right, Doctor; you couldn't do it."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, what about you? Can you do it? Why don't you go out with that handsome teacher at your school, the one who wears the bow ties?"

"Doctor, I've told you, I'm _not_ going out with Adrian."

"Sweetie, shut up. Clara, you don't have to be with anyone," River reminded her gently. "And you're allowed to miss Danny. It doesn't make you weak."

"I just, I don't know. I feel… silly, doing this day after day."

"There's nothing silly about mourning the ones you love," the Doctor reminded her. "And you're living in a box that's floating among millions of miles of darkness. You're in the perfect place to mope."

* * *

 _ **River's bad day at work: River's flat**_

"What the hell sort of time do you call this?"

The Doctor winced uncomfortably on his wife's doorstep, recognising that her tone was far from the one usually reserved for those flirtatious, old-married-couple greetings she so loved. There was no trace of affection in her this evening; fists propped on hips, eyes set in a steely glare that made him wish he hadn't parked the Tardis quite so far away. The way things were going, he thought he might soon be needing a quick escape. Or a hiding place.

"Uh…" He raked a hand through his curls, pushing through her into the hallway before she could slam the door in his face. "Sorry. Got side-tracked trying to disable an uprising in the Rithan Colony. But, hello! I'm here now-"

"The Rithan Colony?" River echoed, in an especially slow tone that so often preceded very loud shouting that the Doctor had the good sense to flinch.

"Yeah…"

Her furious voice was hot on his heels as he scurried into the living room. "As in, the Rithan Colony that I studied in depth for my Professorship, you mean? The Rithan Colony that I've taught to my first-year students for the past what, sixteen years?" she yelled.

He scratched his head, watching his feet as they scuffed at the floor. "Yeah, uh, that one," he mumbled sheepishly.

"And you didn't think to call me? It didn't cross your mind that I could have been there to help you? Honestly, do I have to hunt you down to spend time with you now?"

"Of course not," he argued gently. "I call you up all of the time; don't be unfair."

" _I'm_ being unfair?"

"River, it was one trip. I can't take you everywhere – because, at _your_ request, we don't live together. Anyway, things were hectic there; there wasn't much thinking time – Clara was-"

"Oh, _Clara_ was there!" She clapped her hands together in a mockery of glee. "Well! That just explains everything. I'm sure I'm the _last_ thing on your mind whenever your nice bit of skirt pops in-!"

"River!"

"What? You're only going on the defensive because it's true!"

He took a deep breath. "Ok. I'm guessing – hoping – that this isn't all about me."

"Don't change the subject."

"Honey, come on. There's obviously something the matter."

"You know full well what happens when you call me pet names during arguments, _sweetie_ ," she warned through gritted teeth.

His eyebrows quirked up his forehead. "This is an argument? Over what – me going somewhere without you?" he asked incredulously. "You're not serious."

"I just – it's – you could have _asked_!" Her voice cracked, eyes welling with sudden tears that made his hearts plummet into his stomach. "You could have thought of me, at least. Do you know how it feels to be forgotten about as soon as someone – younger, and prettier, and smarter comes along?"

"Don't make this into _that_. You know full well how I feel about Clara and it's nothing _close_ to what I feel about you. You _know_ that." She ripped her gaze away from him abruptly to hide her tears, and the hard edge to his voice melted away as quickly as it had risen. "Hey. I did think of you. I'm always thinking of you. You studied the colony – you know what it's like there. It's dangerous and corrupt, and no place for my wife."

Her nostrils flared. " _What_? Don't be so bloody sexist!"

"It's nothing to do with gender, River. It's about protecting those you love because you'll do anything to avoid losing them again."

"You took Clara there."

"She travels with me; she knows the risks. They're in the job description."

"Well, I know the risks too. You don't get to decide what's too dangerous for me, Doctor. And if you'd had the decency to invite me, I could have been with you instead of having a terrible day at work!"

"Oh, River… is there anything I can do?" He wrung his hands, looking so forlorn that she almost laughed. "I'm sorry. I… _you_ should have called _me_."

"Why? You couldn't have done anything."

"I could have picked you up from work."

"I thought you'd be too busy elsewhere. Correctly."

"I'm never too busy."

"Don't be a sentimental idiot."

"I meant because I have a time machine. It's sort of literally impossible for me to be too busy."

"Oh."

"River… I'm not going to run scared the moment you stop hiding the damage. As it happens, that's the only thing I've ever disliked about you. I married you for everything you are; there's no sense in us being together if you're going to hide half of that from me."

"But… well, it's hardly attractive for me to be bitching and whining about how upset or angry I am, is it?"

"It's not attractive if you lie to me, either. I'm not a young idiot anymore; the fake smile doesn't work. It only makes me wonder how little you must think of me to keep up that pretence."

"I think everything of you. And I want… I want to be…"

"Perfect?"

"Yeah."

"Job done." He smiled timidly, sinking onto the sofa and patting the space next to him. "Now, tell me about this bad day."

River sighed heavily, flopping down next to him and proceeding to twirl her thumbs with frantic speed. "It's nothing. It's nothing, it's… it's this woman at work." She scoffed. "She's a new Professor in my department, and I have it on good authority that she's trying to take my position. She hasn't exactly been subtle about it; badmouthing me to other Professors – to my _students_ – over the last few weeks, chipping away at my reputation piece by piece. It's fine, I can take it, I have a good century of experience on her… but today she went to the Board and made a case for a "shake-up" in the archaeology department. Which translates as them getting rid of me, because I'm "outdated" and, well, I don't exactly follow the curriculum, and bringing her in as a replacement. The worst thing is, they all love her. She's evil, but those old men on the board don't care about that; they care that she's young, and beautiful, and laughs at their disgusting jokes. And they all look at her like… the way you look at Clara."

His brow furrowed. "Like they can't believe how wide her face is?"

She glared at him half-heartedly. "Drop it. She's beautiful; I know you know that." She sighed. "You know I adore her; just after today, forgive me for being paranoid that I'm going to be replaced by a younger model in all areas of my life."

"You're not being replaced _anywhere_. You're the greatest archaeologist in all the known Universe; if they're too stupid to see that, then they certainly don't deserve for Clara… she's my best friend, River."

"Do you love her?"

"Of course, but not in that way," he answered serenely.

"Did you, before? I know you kissed in your last body."

"How do you know that?"

"Honey, I was there. I was always there, until Trenzalore. I was a data ghost; I had nowhere else to go."

He paled at her confession. "River… I'm so sorry. I mean, she kissed me, but… I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "I was dead. Can I ask… did my coming back interrupt something, between you two?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well… what were you before you found out I was alive? How did you feel about Clara before that?"

"The same way I feel now. She's a wonderful person, she's incredibly important to me. I don't know what I'd do without her; but it isn't… _romantic_."

"But it was. In your last body, the one… the one that married me," she mumbled. "The way you were with her…"

"I think that was more a side-effect of that body. It was such a flirt."

"A side-effect?"

"Not with you. I think you started it, actually, and then after you were gone I found it difficult to stop being the way I was with you with everyone. I was used to being a certain way with someone close; I needed to be attached to someone. I always have."

"Ok."

"What?"

"So you'll just latch onto anyone because you can't be alone."

"You could say that. But I won't _marry_ anyone." He grinned shyly.

"You didn't even want to marry me," she huffed.

"No. I didn't want anything to do with you. I spent years trying to run away. That's what makes you different."

"Well, you know how to make a girl feel special, sweetie."

"You're not like the people I travel with, not to me. You aren't like your parents, you aren't like Clara; you're just… you. I don't lump you in with the rest of the people I've met over the years. You're separate, in my head. And you're very special to me." He scooted closer to her, murmuring into her hair. "More so than anyone else." He pulled back, peering at her anxiously when she continued to stare petulantly at the coffee table. "Do you believe me?"

Her nod was barely noticeable, and he nudged at her waist insistently. "River?"

"What?"

He sighed softly. "What can I do to fix this?"

"There's nothing you've done that needs fixing. It's just me."

"But if I did my job properly then you wouldn't feel this way."

"Don't." She rubbed her forehead wearily. "I've just had a bad day, sweetie. It doesn't mean you're not an amazing husband."

"Amazing?"

River managed a thin smile. "Yeah. And I really, I don't… deserve-"

"Don't you dare." He left a kiss on the corner of her lips. "I love you. And I hate having to tell you that."


End file.
